Oh autumn, with your pretty colours, your shifting light and cool days. Everyone seems to be madly in love with you. “My favourite time of year” appears to be the overwhelming sentiment. So why exactly is it that I don’t feel that same way about you? Why do you fill me with dread?
Coming from Ontario where autumn is truly a spectacular time of year for the senses, I do have a soft spot for the season. In Ontario, it can actually be hot in autumn, and the colours are absolutely magnificent and worth seeing if you never have. I remember getting all kind of fuzzy, warm thoughts at the idea of scarves and sweaters, of the smell of firewood burning, of mounds of gourds and pumpkins and the smell of turkey in the oven. I have gone on many a walk, kicking leaves. There is something enchanting about the swirl of leaves whipping by while on your bike or out for a stroll. It’s definitely got charm.
But over the years, something has shifted for me. While all those lovely things still tug at my heart, the season mostly fills me with a profound disquiet that is not easy to shake. I don’t see quite as much of the beauty as I see the horror of what is to come. Perhaps if you live in an extremely warm climate the fresh air is a relief. But when you barely get a handful of days approaching +30, and the rest of the time it is brown, dead, dark, icy and miserable, autumn signals the beginning of an appallingly long winter. I wish I didn’t feel this way, but I do. There is not enough pumpkin pie or pretty leaves to make the eight months of winter endurable.
So sorry autumn, the truth for me about you is: I think you kinda suck. Just a little. If you turned into spring, I would find you absolutely delightful. I feel sorry that you are stuck with winter at the other end, it tarnishes you. It’s not your fault, truly. It’s not you, it’s me ;)